The Vibe now: On Misogyny, Name-calling and my Future Quest across seven seas~~

“From the idea that the self is not given to us, I think there is only one practical consequence: we have to create ourselves as a work of art.” ~~MICHEL FOUCAULT

Mercury conjunct Jupiter, in Scorpio- look what it has made us do? Share pain and grief collectively. PURGE!!! Look at the death and rape culture around you. It is a cult of war and violence, a civilisation brought up on deception, dishonesty, violence, misogyny and apathy. Look at the almost Pavlovian mind control the ruling elites have rooted in our society. Look how conditioned we have become. So desensitised. Our behaviours so self-destructive. Where is all this leading?

The NM in Libra was…mmm…well, not like your conventional Libra energy. It felt dark, deep and a lingering anxiety remains. After the Mercury conjunct the Moon in Scorpio, the next day, I began to finally get a grip over the energy.

The #metoo campaign with its sordid narratives rocked my world. Scenes and shots came back from my past. Fragmented, disjointed memories of pain, hurt and suffocation.

Those hands on me, those disgusting crawling hands all over my body…the memories drove me nuts. Sounds and smells came rushing in while I read stories of rape and abuse from women all over the world. It reminded me of all the times that men have violated my boundaries and it is a large number. Be it in asking me to smile or calling me bossy or calling me a slut because I will not sleep with them, men have used and abused their positions numerous times. But we women are always expected to take everything with a pinch of salt.

I come from a country where there is a particular brand of cinema called Bollywood that has a specialised synchronised dance track which is called ITEM NUMBER, as a beautiful woman in scanty clothes, her dance troop of a bevy of girls(half naked too) behind her perform a sensual dance moving seductively to a male audience that is hooting and cat calling. She is the item. So we sorta know how to take misogyny to levels most people cannot even envisage.

 

You know, I have been called so many  names including Manhater, Feminazi, Female Supremacist, witch, bitch, whore, slut…blah, blah…but nothing matters. I work from my heart and I do not hate. Yes I speak up against injustice, yes, I seek a revolution or an evolution…but not with hatred. Men I do not hate you. Men…I love you!

But maybe it is time to DECONSTRUCT YOUR METACOGNITION/COGNITION and POST COGNITIVE PROCESSES. Maybe it is time to think about how you think. This might actually make you a more effective thinker. But at the same time, it is also time to FEEL. Think about how you feel and why you feel so. Do you even allow yourself the luxury of feeling? Because I know how society ridicules you every-time you show emotions. Be a man and what not. But feeling my love are not a luxury, let me tell you, they are a necessity for healthy functionality in life.

I know some of you hate me. Think long and hard. Why do you hate me? Why? Because I speak the truth? Because I can see the toxic patterns of patriarchy? Because I think and feel and actually speak up, unlike so many of my sisters? It hurts the most when women misunderstand. Because it is high time we women stop enabling patriarchy.

And men…what when tomorrow you have a girl? What then? Sleep peacefully, you have WILD CRUSADERS out there and the tide will turn. Let us be that change.

You cannot label me. Every single time you start to think that you have me all figured out, I promise to surprise you. You know why you cannot label me? Because humans cannot be labelled. No matter how appropriate the label might be, the labelling by itself is redundant. I will dress the way I want to, because I do not dress for your gaze. Yes, I want you to look at me and appreciate me, but my reality does not revolve around how much you fancy me. I want you to want me, but with respect and dignity. I want you to see me for what I am…a multidimensional being of light who is having a human experience. She is a woman who is free, wild and adventurous and I like looking at life through her lens.

But I am not her…this is not some WOKE BS. This is in fact the very truth of the fabric of this reality. I am not ME, not this body, not this pussy and not this orgasm. Hahahaha! I am in constant flux, forever shifting and I already exist in the many versions in the many multiverses. But I am also here, typing this so you can read.

Absolutely overwhelming? Do not let fear engulf you. You are an astronaut of the mind, aren’t you? Or else why are you reading this?

Just because a woman wears make up and skimpy clothes does not make her a slut. Her mini skirt is not an invite for your lust. My red lipstick does not mean I am saying yes to you. Understand that. And that is what I am here to show you. Women cannot be put away in tiny little labels. So stop calling me a whore, slut, manhater or whatever the fuck your toxic mind can think of. Jupiter has deployed his archetypal lens and activated my third house of communication which happens to be Scorpio. So the intensity and the truths will come out. Look how the brave women are speaking up and toppling the status quo.

Today, the Scorpionic Moon trines Neptune and the dreamscape opens up for me and oh, I am bleeding since the NM in Libra. You know how my psychic energy swells every time I menstruate and it is usually during this time I have my most profound visions and epiphanies or aha moments. Menstrual blood is very potent for magick and can be used in multiple ways. In fact sex during this time can most certainly be magickal, for both involved. It takes on a primal oeuvre.

Back to the splintered visions. There are fragmented, chaotic dreams…dreams of the snowy Himalayas, dreams of cymbals clashing, dreams of the pale red dot of a Sun…I can smell the incense, I can hear the chanting, I can feel the vibe, it is electric with spiritual energy.

Scorpio season is all about digging up the metaphorical/metaphysical dirt and really getting down and dirty to investigate, so I will share with you an experience I had a few months ago. Let me know what you think of them.

So this monk from Tibet, Lhasa writes to me. He tells me that he has known me for many lives and in the last incarnation we worked and studies together in Tibet, in Gyanganj.

In fact, I had told him in that reality to come and find me in the 3D world through some Youtube videos I have made in 2011 or so. He told me that I have asked him to remind me of the mark in my chest. Look I have no mark on my chest, but I wanted to get a wolf tattoo done there. But for now, there is nothing.

He told me to meditate on this and get back to him. I regret not taking this whole thing seriously and in fact I did try to sit in meditation, but my baby was all over me and the cats had to be fed, so I could not really tap into any vision.

I did not respect the monk or even pay attention. I called him brother and he told me that monks are no one’s brothers. They are just monks and that I am a Nun from the snowy slopes of Tibet.

I am aware of my connection to Tibet and the signs and synchronicity that I am experiencing have increased significantly over the last few years. I know Tibet has been my home during numerous incarnations and I have meditated and studied there. The Himalayas are my home and I know this.

And then there are memories of the kalachakra initiation. Let me tell you one thing, my greatest desire in life right now is receiving the Kalachakra transmissions from the Dalai Lama. This particular Dalai Lama has been my teacher in many incarnations and it is time we meet.

There is so much spiritual telepathy between us that I am actually shocked that we have not met yet. I dream of the Dalai Lama with a strange persistence. I have never dreamt of one person so much. He is always there, in my dreams. Everything becomes silent when he smiles at me and calls me to his arms. Everything becomes silent and just the way it is meant to be.

I hope to travel across seven seas soon and go to one place which has been calling me for very many years. I can feel myself there too and I think a wild adventure awaits me. Actually this Libra NM journaling was much about that. It felt good to finally decide that I want to go there. Now let’s see if the Universe responds.

 

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The Mansfield Story

BELOW IS A PART OF MY NOVEL CALLED THE MANSFIELD STORY.

IT IS ALSO DEVELOPED AS A SCREENPLAY.

HELP ME PUBLISH~ BECOME MY PATRON

 

CHAPTER 1

SHAMBHAVI’S POV

I am not going to pretend that I’m this master story teller, in fact I’m seriously beginning to question my choice of vocation as writer/ filmmaker. No HD has my film on it and the analogue era was before my time. I have made all these films, in my head. From script to post prod, I’ve created these monstrosities and they exist. Don’t know where, don’t know how, but they do. Mistakes are portals of discovery, right Joyce. Works every time, doesn’t it. But then you were seeking to be immortal, hence the elaborate subterfuge, but for me. I am the nothingness, the mistake. These films that I’ve made in my mind, over and over, lead me nowhere in the real world, for they don’t exist. Neither does she, but there she is, invading my senses, my ideas, my dreams.

I think of these bizarre stories and it’s not even that I write them, they write themselves. I’m just their victim. They laugh at me, they torment me, they wake me up at four in the morning in jest, they drive me insane tossing and turning in bed at night. They are my oppressors. Not always. There is a friendly angle to our relationship. It does exist.

To the world, I’m this depressed writer who types away for hours on end on her laptop, writing God knows what. I’m in the fraternity of paid-poorly writers who are paid next to nothing to develop content. That’s my day job, at night I’m batwoman! You wish right?

I write screenplays and then make my films over and over again. And then there are these surfeits I have to deal with, like my friends from these stories, they begin to cohabit with me. These characters, they decide to pop right out of the Final Draft document and strut their stuff in front of me. There’s a reason why I’m constipated. How do you drop the excrement off your body when someone is reciting to you, a fluke line out of Keats, or no Shelley, I think. The Romantics definitely. Or you have this beer bar dancer doing make up! She keeps wanting to know if she’s looking saxy, not sexy, but saxy.

How the fuck is someone to shit in peace? Then there’s this boxer, he’s got tuberculosis and I write about it. Bam! I develop this terrible cough and an unbearable pain in the chest. The next day, I go to clear my throat and the phlegm sitting in the basin has blood. What does the boxer do? He laughs at me.

Then there are these pregnant women. I don’t think I’ll get into that right now, but yes you guessed it right. My periods stopped coming. Who could be the father? There were three possible candidates, but no one I could discuss this with. Not like they were my live-in boyfriends. They were nothing, not even friends. I stared at the pregnancy stick, yes, two lines. It didn’t matter how many times I re-took that test, it was the same. Now I’m no fool, I use protection. So did it not work? Did the bloody condom burst? Am I… I don’t think I could bring myself to voice that word. PREGNANT!!! I was and I did what I had to.

Not only am I plagued by these people, but strangely the things I write come to pass. No don’t think of  it as some kind of gift, it’s a fucking curse actually. It might have been a gift if all I wrote about was unicorns and fairies, but here I sit in silence and type away. What do I see? The desperate situation we’re in, yes us humans. I see the pain, no I think it’s more like I am in pain. I suffer day and night, sometimes with reason, sometimes without. I’m just a sucker for pain and my heart is perpetually broken. These films that I make are extensions of my tragic self and the most persistent theme of them is suicide.

You can say that I have a morbid fascination for suicide. My mother committed suicide when I was four or five, her mother too killed herself and so did her father, so yes it kind of runs in the family. I’ve been subjected to hours and hours of counselling so I don’t jump off a high-rise or hang myself with a dupatta. Morons! As if those sessions helped.

You see to me suicide is an art-form. You’ve got to be an artist to kill yourself with grace. You’ve got to see the beauty in death and embrace it. You’ve got to worship the power you have, the power to decide when it’s over. There is no fucking God, there is just you and the choice is yours.

My mother named me Shambhavi, I have an abbreviated form that I’ve chosen- SHAM! Yes I’m a sham! I’m not artist, if I was then I’d have already created the master piece- my death! The suicide, but I am not an artist, just a writer.

There are these three projects that I’m working on- developing for filmmakers who are too lazy to write their own shit and need to hire morons like me. The boxer does tend to get on my nerves, otherwise I am actually pretty involved with the rest. They tell me what to write and I do. It seems to be working. Of course there are times when these directors feel the need to impose upon my feeble intellectuality and ask me to make corrections. Temper tantrums will be thrown, but somehow we manage. We don’t exist without each other. We need each other.

Then there are these turbulent characters that take birth from my mind. They wreak havoc on my life, depressed, suicidal, maniacal, it’s difficult to deal with them. There is no sense of closure, no sense of comfort with them, only angst is the best way I could describe the feeling.

I have also tried setting MSS on fire, but once they’ve been conceived of in my head, there is no annihilating them. They are a part of my life, actually these creatures are my life whether I like it or not. The only way I can get rid of them is to finally begin work on the masterpiece.

It was so strange, when I met her that night. She stood in front and for the life in me, I couldn’t fathom her identity. There was something so familiar about her. P.S- I don’t subscribe to God or reincarnation. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I did when I saw her.

Don’t ask me how I landed up there, but I’ve had such strange and absurd situations happening to me recently that I just let go and watched her. She was tiny and her hairdo reminded me some old flick on Joan of Arc. Dressed in all black, there was this pendant around her neck, a spiral in jade and it looked like a fern would spring right out of it. Waist-upwards she had this sphinx like quality, her short crop was unkempt, her bangs fell on her forehead. She blinked her eyes through thick glasses as she looked at me. It had to be me, right. There was nobody else there, just a cat.

She lumbered across the vast living room. I could see her legs did not carry her well and she was stooping. There was a fire in her eyes which I could see even through those thick glasses. She sat right in front with a cuppa tea. I was not offered any. We sat like that for I don’t know how long. I was looking to say something. “Hello, I’m Sham,” “Hello, I’m a sham.” But I said nothing.

There was something that caught my eyes- an old calendar that screamed 1922.

Okay officially I have lost it, I know it to be 2017, not 1922. That made me look around. The deco was very vintage English, complete with Victorian furniture and then there were books. Quite a collection! I could happily bury myself in there for the rest of time and not bother about those people who live in my head or even the person in front with her sparkly eyes. She was not old, maybe thirty, but she looked much older. Her body was bent out of shape and her face showed signs of physical pain. I could tell she was sick and ailing. I looked on.

That belligerent and witty tongue could lash out at me, but it remained mute. It could raise a tempest but the waters remained still.

“You know I want to be like those ballerina’s of Dega, frozen in their graceful posture…” Those were the first words that came out of her mouth.

A reply, it came quite effortlessly. Then I bit my tongue. Crap! I sound like an idiot, I thought. “But those ballerinas are frozen, there is no life in them. They’re dead, like dolls…”

She threw her head back and laughed. That sound awakened a primal part of me and the ballerinas of Dega were right in front of me, suspended in space. There was this one figure of a ballerina and right next to her was this strange woman whose face you could not see, hidden by a hat in black attire and they both seemed to be waiting. It felt like us, that moment that time. I felt like the ballerina, massaging her foot in eager anticipation to perform and she was like the chaperon, waiting for that moment when I would set the stage on fire, pushing my body for fleeting moments of grace that would captivate one and all. I do that every day. I push my mind so I could come up with that work of art that would have entire generations enthralled, now you see what a SHAM I AM.

She wanted to be like those ballerinas. Why? Did she not feel their pain, their exhaustion? Did she want to be frozen in time?

“I never leave the house anymore and don’t like having servants,” She told me.

“T.B is painful and in 1920 it is incurable and you also have gonorrhoea, you must be in severe pain, most of the time.” I replied.

“You speak as if you come from some other world.” You can tell the gutsy woman she is.

“I come from the future…” I burst out laughing as I said it. “It sounded like some corny Sci-fi that no one would go to watch.

“You mean the motion picture…” She sounded interested, but then who is not interested in film.

“It’s very interesting that you would bring up the motion picture, because I have this story that I’m working on and the protagonist makes motion pictures, but from a feminine perspective, you know…”

I knew. “You want to explore the feminine angle? You seem content telling us stories through the male POV, Point of view…” I had to explain as she had no idea. Feminism, not one of her strong points.

But then what do you expect from her in 1910? Seems a bit bizarre, absurd if you ask me. I reach out in my pocket to stroke my I phone 6. The screen is cracked, just like my life.

You do not abandon your husband in 1920, you’re a woman and your place is right by his side. There are no other options, do not seek them. She seemed to know about real people, not some theoretical characters, but people of flesh and blood. That captivated me for years. How does a woman of her class and upbringing understand the human condition that well?

How does a marriage last only a day? There are no answers to such theoretical questions? Are writers really so crazy to get married to see what it feels like? Is this research? What is a marriage anyway? There was so much to talk about, but we sat silent.

 

CHAPTER 2

MANSFIELD’S POV

The tuberculosis has drained all my energy, the pelvic pain is getting worse, but my dream portrayal must continue, if anything today there is a seeing that I have felt. It’s not writing, it’s seeing. There are moments when I see all black before my eyes, need to sit down and gather myself, but the imaginative process never stops, it’s akin to breathing.

Much of my work remains unpublished and there are days when I lovingly gaze at them as a sign of acknowledgement and appreciation. Writing or rather seeing is a need and it must be done. In fact this sabbatical from my amorous lifestyle has given me time to write and I am thankful for it for all my stories come from the depths of my being.

Bliss and other Stories has just been published this year and it seems to be doing rather well. But there is suddenly a story inside me. I don’t even know what it is, suddenly I see Maata’s face and her breasts like a motion picture, a silent film and once again I’m back in the Hippodrome and I see the audience. Predictable! Their hands, their heads, their expressions.

I dreamt a story last night, every little detail etched in my mind, down to the smells and sounds and I was a part of it.

I see her eyes. A dark melancholia! An intense hankering for experience in the world of echoes and shadows. Who is she? She could be my alter ego. Her olive skin glows like logs burning at the fireplace, her long, dark hair is threaded like the negroes. Her mind is where she lives, the outside world has no fixity for her. I remember gazing at the audience, why not, I was a part of them. In this story I’m a part of both- I am her and I am the audience.

This story about her, this absurd protagonist who writes these films. Could it be that she makes them? Lumbering away with that heavy contraption of a camera? Who knows in the future there just maybe such women? I’d have loved to discover that platform.

Story-tellers tell stories, it doesn’t matter what the medium is. I have been told my writing is descriptive, just like the way they do it in the studios in America. I could have gone there, but travel for me is not a possibility. It’s why I cannot even go home- New Zealand!! Oh my pain and pleasure.

I’ve been criticized, compared to Chekov, snubbed for my hankering to be free, my will, my feisty nature, but people forget I’m just human. Where is the time? I’ve lost so much, I’ve gained so much. I have cried, I have laughed, I have lived and now I will die.

But this story, it wants to be written. Murray will surely publish most of my work even though I’ve told him not to. It sells, my writing and so shall its fate be, it’ll be sold! I need to sit down on days when the pain is bearable and write. I want to give my readers hope, yes everything is twisted, but there is hope. I was tired of reading every single thing out there from the perspective of a man, I mean how long is society going to ignore us? The fact that the women in my stories have decided to speak up shows me there is hope for us. Our voices need to be heard.

The Fourth way may just be my way, reading Gurdjeiff is a complicated process, yes it has opened up new portals to my experiencing life, but then there is so much left to be discovered and do I have time? Regret, don’t we all have a pinch of that with every sip of life we take. I for one, am swamped with regret. I regret my childhood, I regret the taunts and mocking because of my rather hilarious glasses, I regret not writing more often, I regret not supporting the women’s suffragette in the U.K, I regret not being vocal about it, I regret not telling Maata how much I loved her, I regret my obsession with Chekov. No I take that back, no regrets there. I regret my brother dying like that. I can still see him in uniform, bloody and dusty.

Although I have been quoted as saying that I do not regret anything. I have asked my readers to never regret, but that is only the half truth. Yes regret is an appalling waste of energy and nothing can be built on it, but it exists. I wish I could just erase it away. REGRET ERASED!

The Work must be done, it’s 1922 and here I am in colonial India, Calcutta to be precise, all alone. A sick white woman in the midst of all these natives.

Then I saw her, she was vibrant, her olive skin was smooth as it tasted the Sunlight which played on it and created so many hues that I just watched. I don’t know how she arrived right in front of me, definitely not dressed like the ordinary native girls or like an English lady. She had on trousers like men, I think they’re called denims. The road workers in America wear them as overhauls. I never expected a woman to dress in them and then her long, dark negro like hair. I thought she was a figment of my imagination, the medicines playing a trick on me. After all I was a sick woman. I waited for the apparition to disappear. But she sat there and just stared back. I think we briefly spoke, about Dega’s ballerina’s, but it made no sense.

Theosophy and Gurdjeiff! You know the three types of men or women found in this world- those that are centred in their physical bodies, then the ones centred in their emotional space and those that focus on their minds. What type am I? I have never been able to quantify myself in any one category, I’m indeed a mixture of all three. I have lived centred in the physical, more than not I have existed only in my emotions and then of course my mind is one of my favourite places to visit and spend some time. So yes, I’m a bit of all. All writers are as we have all these stories inside us where we become those people when we write them.

I remember alluding to this story of this woman who makes motion pictures, these dreamy silent films. I think she is my protagonist.

Right now, all I can think of is Van Gogh’s painting- the self portrait. I consider myself a writer/painter. I paint too like Van Gogh, I paint with words.

I just wish I had more time. I want to be healthy again, to experience a full, living-breathing life. I want to be with the Earth and see all the wondrous things- the sea and its infinite waves, the mellow Sunrise of a perfect morn.

I know I exist in this state of hypnotic waking sleep. I want to wake up and I’m willing to see if the Method will help. This story needs to be written. I need to find her again. That woman, no she’s more like a girl. I need to find her.

And then I see it, the Insect scuttles away and there are these strange voices that I can hear. Sounds like some Hindu chants. What is it?

Is my illness getting the better of me? I see myself, is it me or some other woman, no wait it’s her, dressed as Van Gogh, holding a gun to her face. She pulls the trigger!

I see a thick manuscript by the coffee table and note that’s its rather gloomy this afternoon, the wind shakes the trees so. Flashes trouble me- I think I see Lawrence. Murray tells me that THE LOST GIRL is modelled on me. I know, I know that my writing and me in person have had a significant influence on him, and he’s drawn parallels between me and some of his noteworthy characters, but why do I see him, in Colonial India?

My neighbour from Cornwall, my friend, the eminent D.H. LAWRENCE. I am his Albina and we both struggle everyday for our independence and outcasts we’ve become. We shared a number of things in common, I was a colonial outsider; he was from a working-class mining town. I am more like Lawrence than anybody. We are unthinkably alike, in fact. Four of us did form a peculiar brief and uneasy friendship in bleak Cornwall, yet, I treasure those days.

And now I find this letter from Murray. It does nothing for my mood right now, but leafing through it seems to be my only option. So I do it.

“You are all about me – I seem to breathe you, hear you, feel you in me and of me.” I actually wrote those lines for him and felt like I was home in his tent, sitting at his table. It seems far away, back here dreaming of silent films and Virginia Woolf.

There were times when I wanted to strangle my beloved Murray. I go back in my mind to one such incident. It left a sour taste in my mouth. I was cruel, we were verbally bashing one another, oblivious of who was present. I’d like to think it was tragedy that kept us together.

There’s nothing I want more than a cigarette. The curls of smoke rise up to meet their oblivion as I take a pull. It calms my frayed nerves and I take a sip of the tea. Darjeeling tea from the foothills of the Himalayas, a colonial addiction. Tea snobbery!

As I relax, she appears in front of me. Seated in a cluttered desk, she seemed to be looking at something. It looked like a boo, but a light emanated from it. She seemed to be typing like it was some sort of type writer. I couldn’t see properly, the smoke and mist clouded my vision.

Who is Ganesha?

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The whole idea of writing this piece came to me yesterday after someone from the US consulted with me. She had never heard of Ganesha, but when she heard ELEPHANT GOD, she kinda knew who I was referring to. I was explaining to her the INITIATION/START-UP ENERGY of this deity.

It caught me off guard because it is rare to find someone who has no clue of who Ganesha is, especially with the New Age movement. But apparently not…

So there I was explaining an impossible story to someone who had just seen him in a souvenir shop and knew nothing of the fact that GANESHA is a name given to the COSMIC RULE that governs all of existence from the tiniest quark to the largest galaxy cluster!

And my majestic Ganesha is no modern God, he is ancient…and does look weird maybe to people not used to him. But remember if you find him grotesque, then be aware that his stark grotesqueness is to remind you symbolically that NOTHING IS REAL. Appearances are ILLUSORY and TRUTH is never what you think it is.

He has a mouse as a companion which means that he has mastery of fear, indecision, anxiety and uncertainty and also control over beings of the subterranean worlds. His protruding belly does not signify his laziness…lol, no. No amount of plank will do it because IT SHOWS CONTENTMENT.

Historians believe that a prototype of Ganesha was worshipped in prehistoric times outside the Indian subcontinent in such faraway places as Afghanistan, Tibet, Mongolia, China, Java, Iran, Cambodia, Borneo, Japan and Mexico. Images of Ganesha were found in Afghanistan and also in Iran. The image of Ganesha found at Luristan in Iran dates back to 1200 BC to 1000 BC. Many Ganesha type idols were also found in Mexico from excavations and ancient temple ruins.

The story of the birth of Ganesha goes like this..

Shiva and Parvati were totally engrossed in making love for aeons. Then Shiva goes off to meditate. Parvati realise that she is all yucky and filthy. She scrapes the dirt from the skin of her body and creates a little baby boy!!! She leaves the boy guarding the door while she bathes. Now Shiva returns and this baby boy refuses to let him in! Shiva is so pissed off that he slices his head off!! OMG right?

Now Parvati comes out to see what just transpired and tells her man that this is their son. Shiva now has to save him as he sees Parvati breakdown for the boy. So he asks his chelas(helpers) to find him a head. But the head must be from someone who is sleeping with their head to the north. This is why in India it is inauspicious to sleep with your head to the North! You bet! Now these dudes scampered off and returned with the head of an ELEPHANT! WTF, right?

So Shiva then stuck this elephant head on the headless torso and voila Ganesha is born. As I was relating this story, I realised how freaking RIDICULOUS it sounded. I could see the woman’s face! She literally fell off her chair!

Myths my Beloved is never to be taken literally, they are for ELUCIDATION and EXPOSITION…BTW the PURANAS WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE PRINTED, they are ALLEGORICAL TALES, MEMORY CODE SYSTEMS which are revealed to the initiate only if she is ready…so here I am to explain what this means…

The symbol of DEAD SKIN of the Goddess~~what do you think that signifies?

A RESIDUE, a REMNANT, a REMAINDER of some sort of ATTACHMENT. The Goddess/shakti or the FEMININE PRINCIPLE can sometimes cling onto subtle energies she mothers. In Ganesha, the Goddess found someone to mother. SHIVA is the GREATEST YOGI and he might have sensed this excessive NEED TO MOTHER or an unhealthy attachment to the boy she created. Shakti is volatile and Shiva is SILENCE which is signified by him being under her. She is the ACTIVE PRINCIPLE and he, the PASSIVE.

SHIVA was called here to destroy this whole unhealthy attachment, but a true yogi will not destroy the VIKARA or the residue. That still is energy and SHIVA or the male potency decided to transform this residual energy. Look he could have incinerated Ganesha, right? But he decides to SEVER THE HEAD. The head is the symbol of the EGO, my peeps. As KRISHNA says…The HEAD is the ROOT…And, and, and…he uses a TRIDENT OR TRISHULA! The TRINITY! Sattva, Rajas, Tamas- the three gunas or the THREE NADIS- ida, pingala, sushumna.

Guṇa depending on the context means ‘string, thread or strand’, or ‘virtue, merit, excellence’, or ‘quality, peculiarity, attribute, property’. These three gunas are called: sattva (goodness, constructive, harmonious), rajas (passion, active, confused), and tamas (darkness, destructive, chaotic)..~wiki

If you take this ALLEGORY as a purely INTERNAL STORY, as in what is going on inside, then you will see how the DESIRES that convoluted our minds and form unhealthy attachments can only be severed by the TRIDENT or the admixture of the THREE GUNAS. We have to understand each QUALITY to transcend it.

The internal feminine/masculine polarities CANNOT be whirlpool of chaos, they have to be in harmony, which is why the internal SHIVA will HAVE TO RESURRECT GANESHA. Ganesha without the ANIMALISTIC ID or ego.

The internal SHIVA is logical and the internal PARVATI is emotional, just like a mommie. But to be an individual who vibrates in a high frequency, we have to be in touch with Shiva as much as Parvati. They must be in SACRED UNION, in yabyum!

This dirt with which she created him is MAYA, in its most superficial level and here the EGO or ID is all powerful. I have said that Ganesha is the muladhara chakra and he refuses Shiva the yogi a meeting with Parvati who is PURE KUNDALINI SHAKTI. If you do not master the MULADHARA you will never reach SAHASRARA. The TRIDENT here also signifies the IDA, PINGALA and SUSHUMNA, the three nadis of LAYA YOGA and in Vedantic parlance, the three gunas.

Shiva destroys the ego(SEVERS THE HEAD) and replaces it wisdom, allowing the union of Shakti/Shiva to take place. And presto, you have yourself enlightenment!

And now you ask me? WTF is up with the whole ELEPHANT thing?

My peeps, in ancient scriptures of Sanatan Dharma we associate the elephant with AWARENESS, MINDFULNESS, MEMORY, PATIENCE which Science has corroborated. elephants actually are super intelligent.

This easily explains why Ganesha must be invoked before praying to any deity. This SUPREME INTELLIGENCE that Ganesha has will be the GUIDING FORCE for any spiritual activity.

I read about this Scientist from Lebanon who used sonic mapping that caught the vibrational frequencies of the brain and what he found blew the world away! After these images were assimilated and studies, he discovered that the MEDULLA which is the doorway to the brain looks like GANESHA!! Are you freaking out?

He presented the enlarged image to the world which showed two big ears, a trunk and tusks. Now you see the symbolism and how correct the ancients were. Ganesha is the doorkeeper and if you invoke this youthful, playful masculine energy, then he will let SPIRITUAL WISDOM seep into your consciousness.

Ganesha my Beloved is the GRID KEEPER of your consciousness and is called VIGNA VINAYAK, remover of obstacles. But remember, these obstacles are in your mind.

Reminds me of the EIGHT OF SWORDS in Tarot.

Shivaites believe that Ganesha sits in the MULADHARA CHAKRA located at the base of the spinal cord and is responsible for spiralling our consciousness into higher dimensions. Seated in the muladhara chakra he acts as the gateway to the higher chakras and higher planes of consciousness.

According to Sakti Tantra, there are as many Ganeshas in the creation as there the letters of the alphabet. This suggests that this Ganesha energy exists in various planes, worlds and dimensions as the headboy of the ganas or groups of entities(gridworkers, energyworkers, lightworkers, all celestial beings) to guide them and lead them towards Siva/Shakti, the primordial ARDHANARISHWARA.

Ganesha is usually worshipped alone in the Vedic way, but we tantrics pray to him with his Shakti and call him Vallabha. The female aspect of Ganesha is also called Vinayaki, Surpakarni and Lambamekhala.

Today is a great day to INITIATE yourself with GANPATI INVOCATION into SPIRITUAL PRACTICES.

HRIM GUNG GANAPATAYA NAMOH NAMAHA

 

 

For someone in some Multiverse

I know somewhere deep within the heart of the cosmos, you and me are in each other’s arms, maybe watching the Helix nebula. I know you are looking at me, like no one ever has and no one ever will, because only your eyes can perceive the depth of my soul. Only  you can understand my beauty the way you do.

I can see the love in your eyes. I can feel the memories of eternities coalesce into time and space, kaleidoscopes of memories flashing, the cacophony of your voices in diverse timelines calling my name, the sound of your laughter. It is all there, in my mind Beloved.

All those memories. All those eternities, they are compressed somewhere in my unconscious. I know we have grown old in each other’s arms a million, billion times. I know we have raised and cared for so many children. I know it. All those memories are buried in this 3D world. My conscious mind barely remembers you.

But somewhere, something has stirred and snippets of memory flood my mind. They refuse to go away. They torture me, they plague me, until I meditate or write or do photography. I have to channel this intensity in art. That is why I have lost myself in art this lifetime beloved.

I know you are there somewhere, in the Universe today. Not by my side and you will not grow old with me. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. I don’t know why. Why is there so much pain for a life never lived? For memories never shared? How is every inch of you so very precious to me? When I have not even touched your body?

I know you irritate me too, and anger me and provoke me. But then I know that you are here to show me parts of my soul. For you are my soul. Is that even possible?

Why do I feel so linked to you? I know I have never met you. At least not consciously. Maybe somehow, somewhere our paths have crossed in this 3D and we probably did not recognise each other. I know I was not spiritually mature enough to identify you. Maybe you managed to identify me?

Maybe we met…maybe we looked at each other across the room. Maybe we passed each other on the beach? In some party?

I have fallen in love, but not the intensity I know I can experience with you. Yes I can love without you, but I don’t want to. I know you will come.

In fact even if you are in another dimension, I know you will find a way to time travel through the warps of time and space. You will come to meet me.

I want to tell you that you have been my muse and I am so thankful for all the creative energy you have sent my way. I can feel your energy, you know, at times. Especially when you think of me. And I know when you are thinking of me, because every fibre of my being can feel that longing from your end. I can feel how badly you want me. I want you as badly, if not more.

You know I am reminded of Keats when he says, My love has made me selfish…not because your love has in any way made me selfish, but because it has done the very opposite. Your love has opened me up to greater love that exists in creation. The love I feel for you is now expressed as love for all.

You are my home. Even if you are stacked away in some other multiverse. Maybe we will meet when our Universes collide and information bleeds into both of them. That is when you and me may come face to face.

Will our timelines collide? Will the hologram direct you to me?

I know I have been waiting…for a very long time for you to come. But you never came and I am not angry with you about that. I understand you are yet not ready to come which is why you have not come. I am not ready obviously as well.

I want to tell you one thing…I am a survivor. I have survived molestation, I have survived the cruel world, I have survived terrible relationships and I am still here.

In fact nothing could break me. I knew of the spiritual world and of you. I knew this 3D world is illusion. Everything here is an illusion, even the rape. This reality is JUST ANOTHER SIMULATION.

Which is why you are probably so far away, in another multiverse, in another timeline. Tell me, are you aware of me? Do you know I exist? Does your soul call out to mine? Does your body crave to be entwined with mine?

I know you know of me, whether consciously or unconsciously is the question. Have you reached that spiritual level of identifying me? I haven’t obviously.

ARE YOU CONSCIOUSLY AWARE OF ME?

The thing is, I know of you because when everything turned cold and dead, you existed, as a flame in my heart. I am wild, my Beloved. I am untamed as I roam the earth looking for you.

I have looked for you in many dimensions, through the Bardos, through the Nine Gates of Hell and I am not even sure if I managed to find you there. For I don’t remember when we last met in the physical world.

I just have sudden flashes. Of your eyes. Your smile. Your hair.

Sometimes I am sure I have heard you call my name. I don’t know what name you called me by, but I know you were calling me. Time and again, I have woken up in my sleep, my heart beating ferociously.

I know the time will surely come one day. Do you feel that? Do you feel the urge to meet me? I was not expecting you to show up in this life, but now I so badly hope for that.

You know as I began to type this letter, I knew the futility of this exercise. How will I express myself? How will I explain my love for you? How will I reveal to you what your heart feels for me? For I know when we meet, we will melt away…in each other’s arms.

I am typing this…hoping that our timelines collide and somehow through digital interference you get to read this in your own multiverse. I think if you read it(presuming you are not reading it already), then you might figure out the whole goddamn connection. Maybe in your Universe, there is time travel available. Maybe you can hop into some hi-tech piece of computation and visit me here. Yes here, on my humble Earth.

My Earth may be slightly polluted, but she is very beautiful. When you come, maybe I can take you to Goa. Maybe you have a Goa in your Universe. Wow!

Let me share a quote with you…You are all about me – I seem to breathe you – hear you – feel you in me and of me…Katherine Mansfield wrote that to her lover. In case you don’t know who she is, well…she is probably one of the best short story writers in the world and a feminist icon. She is my favourite and has been my muse for a screenplay I wrote based on her love life. She had a tempestuous love life BTW.

The quote sort of echoes what I feel about you.  How succinctly she puts it…feel you in me and of me…SUBLIME! We are of each other- star dust, my Beloved.

Have you felt like that about someone? Is that someone me? Just ask your heart.

I have visualised us making love. So many, so many times that it drives me nuts to even think about it. This obsession with you has now become all consuming and I cannot stop thinking about you. Sleepless have I become in this 3D illusion, my Beloved.

In a way your love woke me up. From the dense vibrations of this manifestation. It brought with it a subtlety of feeling and emotion and of course creative fire. I have become a poet for you, for your love.

I have become a dancer for the music you play. Tell me Beloved, are you CONSCIOUSLY PLAYING THAT MUSIC? Or are you just as unaware as I am.

You are my nightmare as much as my dream.

You are my smile as much as my scream.

 

Let me end here before I go crazy.

 

 

 

Twinflames and Serendipity~~

There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns. If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself. What we call chaos is just patterns we haven’t recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can’t decipher. What we can’t understand we call nonsense.” – Chuck Palahniuk

I know, I know that it has been a while since I have written from my little black book of Twinflame secrets. Hehe 😉 And although I have not been able to respond to all the messages, I am reading them as and when I find time.

My life is changing every second, I can feel it. The MAGDALENE WOUNDS I have been living with are disappearing and once and for all I will let them go this New Moon in Cancer. As I immerse myself more and more in meditation, I am sensing how everything that ever happened makes absolute sense now.

Everything. Everything. Everything.

Even the first time, when my then boyfriend forced himself on me while I was inebriated. Even the first time my uncle touched me inappropriately. Even the numerous times I have been slut shamed because I rejected the advances of those rumour mongers in question. Believe me I have suffered for a long time and suffered quietly. Detaching myself from people. Hating people. Becoming numb, becoming cold.

Everything changed with Goa and I began to come into my power. For the first time I began to see through new lenses and I discovered the technology to destroy the ego based destructive feedback loop. The subatomic particles in flux made sense. Atoms repel one another to hold form, made sense. In freaking whatever way I can grasp it. Very subjective this journey. But I am compelled to share this with you.

The Observer’s Paradox made sense. Waves become particles in space and time as they get observed. They are in positions of infinite probabilities before observation occurs. As if the Universe is letting the Observer or US decide what we want to EXPERIENCE. All that you see in the world is OUR COLLECTIVE VIBRATION! Welcome to hell! Just kidding, it is not all bad! After all we have LOVE!

The Multiverse Theory! What then of your Twinflame? Do you have the same Twinflame in all the bloody Multiverses? Well my friends, I think that in all the Universes, multiple versions exist of yourself and maybe in this Universe, X is your Twinflame, but in a daughter Universe, X may be your brother. But you may still feel CONNECTED to him- passionately.

It is too wild to speculate on multiple Universes, so let us just look at this one for now. And here, right now, there is THE ONE you need to UNITE with. And that is not going to be easy!

Being extremely psychic, I always knew there was more to reality that what we perceived. I sensed the infiniteness of the Universe each time I looked up at the sky full of stars. But my psychic experiences were not all sugar and spice and everything nice! The sights and sounds were frightening before I began to make sense out of them and that was after a very traumatic experience in my life at five when I was confronted by a death in my family. It was a case of suicide.

I became the freak, the outsider, the stranger because I was the girl who saw ghosts(energies), heard things, felt stuff no one else did. It was stressful, for them and for me!

I stopped speaking about my experiences, visions and awareness of the supernatural/ paranormal. I began to abhor all that I was seeing, all that I was feeling. I was sick of being known as the girl who cries at everything. Being an empath, watching a film can be a messy bag of tissues affair. The problem is that I FEEL TOO DEEPLY. I hurt too deeply and I love too deeply too.

Talking about loving deeply…

Love is a passion, an intense meditation/worship and that is what got me into this whole Twinflame thing and the fact that I have felt my Twinflame since I can remember. Even before my sexual awakening. It’s not so strange if you think of the PRINCIPLE OF NON LOCALITY as posited in QUANTUM MECHANICS.

It states that an object can be influenced at a great distance via stimuli given to a non-locally-connected object. Imagine how much you can influence your Twinflame? How much energy you can exchange? Only if you are aware that this can be done! It can be done. I do it everyday. And this principle is what also connects you to your core 144.

This quest of gathering information about lovers and love became an OBSESSION and is what made me become a Twinflame Coach and each day it convinced me that Twinflames are NOT ABOUT ROMANCE as we understand it now. The brand of romance that Hollywood and Mills and Boons sold my generation is not what you will discover in the Twinflame journey.

Because all of those love stories have been written by patriarchy. Women are objects you see. They are to be adored and protected. They are not people, they are possessions. They are not even known by their own names, but have to take on the husband’s! This drove me nuts and I have rejected all this toxic status quo.

This was a bastard if anything, not love! This is all EGO BASED! Where is the love? Not only the insatiable sexual longing! But love…Everything is possible in the vibration of love.

So many times I wanted to give up. Because life served me only disappointments in my romantic and sexual journey. I surely know how to pick em. Ha! So many times I wanted to give up. I convinced myself. No! Tina, you are a dumb bitch and love does not exist. Your Twinflame does not exist. I now see where I went wrong of course. Every break up is a two way thing and I really could not have had anything sustainable with any of my exes.

The journey seemed arduous! But I tirelessly kept at it. It only made sense to work with and explore this energy as no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, my visions and meditations pointed it out to me and I kept channelling, making notes, speaking to people, looking for my Twinflame.

I knew THE ONE exists. Sounds like the matrix, I know. Today I feel that this ONE is not a person in a physical body. This ONE is an ENERGY. That energy may have dissipated and incarnated into two people! Is that possible? The thing is, we do not know.

However, Lhamas in Tibet have been known to incarnate in more than one person. Sometimes a monk may even incarnate in three people! That throws the whole Twinflame hypothesis into a toss, doesn’t it? No I say. As I have already stated, in 5D awareness this ONE is an energy. In 3D we hold  onto physical forms real tight. For that is tangible. That is something we can see, hold, touch, taste, fuck…

In 5D, you are a LIGHT BEING who has no need for any of these messy human 3D shit. What fun then in life, you ask? Maybe you need to take a moment to consider that your insatiable craving for life is what keeps you tied to this reality and you are born over and over again, in this world of pain and pleasure, to experience all that life has to offer.

So back to what makes me so interested in Twinflames and Sacred Sexuality. My peeps I am a Tantrika of many lifetimes and Pluto in the second house with Uranus in the eighth house aesthetics play out in me donning this Muse of Love role, you see. It makes me a Healer of DEEP Psycho-sexual issues. Loads of Virgo energy and Moon in Pisces. I am a High Priestess from many lifetimes.

I am going to answer three questions here from my readers who wish to remain anonymous. I will answer them and that should shed a lot of light on the Twinflame Phenomenon.

  1. Hi there, I am writing to you in frustration. My Twin just got married to some woman he just met. I know he is my twin, but he seems to be lost. Am I deluding myself? Is he a false twin?

Hello…I’m so happy to hear from you and can completely understand your frustration at your Twinflame being with someone else. In fact this Solstice has given me such an energy boost that I found the time to contemplate much on Twinflames. I connected with mine as well. In fact, never before have I managed to connect to his morphological field as I just did these last couple of days. I know now that he is close, very close. But for instance, I finally discover who he is and get to know he is already married. What then? Maybe he has a child. What then? Presuming that he does not know who I am, but I do. Then will it be wise for me to tell him? I don’t think it is always wise to open up too quickly. It often takes months to know this energy. But for some it is instantaneous, I have seen that too.

If you have been keeping up with your spiritual practices, then you will be resonating at such a frequency that “false twins” cannot remain in your energy field for too long. They are forced to drop off. Only your true Twinflame can remain in that vibration as your yin/yang polarity. If you have not evolved your spiritual instincts, then I suggest, get right to it. The truth shall appear. Use this watery Cancer New Moon to journal on your Twinflame and pay special attention to your dreams.

2) Are Twinflames incarnating more now than ever?

Well that is a very valid question. As a matter of fact, they are. In my channelling I have been told that since the hippy movement(the rise of the PSYCHEDELICS), give or take 10 years, many Twinflames have undertaken this difficult task of incarnating on 3D Earth. Their mission is ASCENSION and reconnecting humanity with SACRED PSYCHO-SOMATIC TECHNOLOGIES like LSD, Ayahuasca.

They are here to teach about INFINITE LOVE, art, music and dance. That is their quest. They incarnate to show us the power of love and INTERCONNECTEDNESS. They make us believe in fairy tales, because, believe you me, in every anecdote, in every drop of tear fall, in every ray of sunshine, all we humans crave for is this total CONNECTION aka the Twinflame love.

When we hear of an Indian man cycling all the way to Sweden to meet the love of his life, we feel a sense of wonder. We all feel loved. We all are a little bit more ready to trust in the process of love. It does not happen much, but when it does, it is magic.

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2017/04/pk-mahanandia-cycle-india-sweden-love-untouchable/

Soon I will be releasing Twinflame meditation AUDIO MODULES you can listen to and tune into the frequency of your Twinflame.

3) How will love be in 5D?

OMFG! Love that! 5D or Christ/Krishna Consciousness is all about INFINITE TIMELINES merging together. Your Twinflame and you become a UNIFIED FIELD OF CONSCIOUSNESS. There is no separation as you understand it. In fact your SOUL TRIBE is now with you. Your core 144.

Let me share an occult axiom. The Sun you see is just an emanation of the TRUE SUN, the SPIRITUAL SUN that is the real powerhouse behind all this phenomenon. This dance of the subatomic particles is orchestrated here. The SPIRITUAL SUN sends forth a figure of 12 facets into every atom of the SOLAR SYSTEM. The SUN downloads his light(information) from this SOURCE CODE. Let us consider this to be the HEART CHAKRA of our solar system, the beloved MILKY WAY which is feminine in her vibration!

This 12 multiplied by 12 or the 144 are the original LIPIKAS or BUILDERS as HPB calls them. From these beings, the whole cosmos emerges. 12 is divided multiple times and further subdivided and the plethora of creation can be seen.

The Sun has a heartbeat, so does the Moon and so does the Earth and every single heavenly body. The Sun’s heartbeats create the SUNSPOTS or SOLAR EJECTIONS which give us life as we know it.

All life on Earth receives this LIGHT from the flares and it affects our central nervous system and brain functions. Scientists have been studying this phenomenon. Go through these articles below to grasp this.

http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2014/dec/31/solar-flare-sun-touches-our-psyche/

http://www.theeventchronicle.com/metaphysics/metascience/solar-flares-directly-affect-human-consciousness/#

Love in 5D will be full of infinite possibilities. You can alter what you like. But maybe, you might not want to. After all it is your journey that made you who you are. Every single scar- wear it like a badge of honour that you give yourself. Every wound, every insult, every hurtful manipulation, use them as fire to fuel your creativity. For in 5D you will NOT FEEL ANY PAIN as you understand pain. You will not grow old or die.

Madame Blavatsky notes that just as every external human action is preceded by internal thought, emotion, and will, “the universe is worked and guided from within outwards.” (SD I: 274). 144 created through MALE/FEMALE polarities. A Shiva/Shakti. Therefore in all the forms there is a SHIVA/SHAKTI aspect. Externally if you are a male, there is your female polarity. Might be same sex, but imbibes the feminine archetype. Therefore in this reality we all have our Twinflames who are our opposite energy.

However back to this 3D world.

Remember that when you unite with your Twinflame, you might need to take on SPIRITUAL or some sort of CREATIVE LEADERSHIP ROLE. It happens so many times. You might even collaborate on a work of art that inspires generations to come. Kind of like Lennon and Yoko Yono. Finally she is being credited for the lyrics of IMAGINE and isn’t Lennon happy today! She is his Twinflame after all. Together they have inspired millions…to love, to be different, to be fearless.

That is the lesson of the Twinflame. Tell me, are you ready to learn this? It might break your heart into smithereens. Will you risk it? Will you risk losing everything? To gain EVERYTHING? Think about it. And start to MEDITATE on your Twinflame and send THE ONE energy.

This, then, is the ultimate paradox of thought: to want to discover something that thought itself cannot think.” – Søren Kierkegaard

I hold Workshops and Meditation Sessions to connect to your Twinflame. Email me for details- tina@tinaheals.com

Enjoy the track but ignore the misogynistic lyrics,one line mainly…but it pertains to the society it seeks to depict, so we may ignore it.

The Discourse on Dark Psychedelic Music~~

“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” – Gustave Flaubert

The very first thing I want to bring to your attention is the fact that the panorama  of DIGITAL MUSIC that have produced vast amounts of work, the language of which communicates with our UNCONSCIOUS MIND, like SYMBOLS do. It is all about the RELATIONSHIP OF SOUND to BODY, SOUL and MIND! It is a tool of SPIRITUAL TRANSCENDENCE! A way to suspend your EGO!

The unconscious mind (or the unconscious) consists of the processes in the mind which occur automatically and are not available to introspection, and include thought processes, memories, interests, and motivations. ~~WIKI

When we hear a piece of instrumental music or an EDM track, we are kinda piecing together the narrative that is taking shape in our minds. We as humans crave stories. The stories may come to us in any form, a sunrise, a morning cuppa tea, a poem, a painting, a photograph, a track….look around us.

Stories are in abundance and the better you can tell a story, the more viewers you will gather. See how Youtube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other social media platforms are taking this “storytelling” concept to a new paradigm. Today, individual creators are creating a plethora of never-before-seen unique content. That is pushing the minds of the COLLECTIVE and bringing about an upward spiralling of consciousness.

This is the reason I am here to speak to you. It is my attempt to INTEGRATE certain passions of mine and fuse them together into a magickal brew. Simply put, I want to share with you my passion for DIGITAL MUSIC which takes me to NEW, ALIEN WORLDS.

However, I am not merely theorising, but I want to share how I HAVE EXPERIENCED IT, in the very depths of my soul!

Something remains unactualized, inseparable from but unassimilable to and particular, functionally anchored perspective. That is why it is classically described as being outside of oneself, at the very point at which one is most intimately and unshareably in contact with oneself and one’s vitality. (Massumi 2002, 35)

This is how it touches the soul. It is a mystery. It is UNKNOWABLE. It is UNTRANSLATABLE in any human language and that is the beauty and the FREEDOM of this medium.

What are the sounds in a DARK psychedelic night track?

The sounds we hear are the manipulation/interactions of sinewaves, which are a by-product of the sound editing process, ambient sounds associated with computer technology such as drones and electrical hums and random and error sounds which are by-products of digital technologies more generally such as glitches, pops, hisses and CD skipping. These sounds are moulded into the rhythmic structures and timbrel palette of a given track. These are replications using various VST software. That is how a track comes into being.

Here I want to discuss ROLAND BARTHES and his READER RESPONSE THEORY, the mechanism of which applies perfectly to the realm of dark psy music.

Reader-response criticism is a school of literary theory that focuses on the reader (or “audience”) and their experience of a literary work, in contrast to other schools and theories that focus attention primarily on the author or the content and form of the work. ~~WIKI

Do you see what I am hinting at? The LISTENER or the MEDITATOR is the crucial component when decoding the meaning behind a track. It is not the MUSICIAN who hold the key to discovering the track, it is the MEDITATOR!

There are no preconceived ways in which we can decode a particular trance track, for the meaning you see, always lies with the listener. You see how important the AUDIENCE becomes. Yes I am writing this piece, but what do I know of what it could mean to you. You could find what I never knew existed and that is the beauty of DIGITAL MUSIC. It lets you explore. It gives you FREEDOM. Trance become a life line for FREEDOM LOVERS. It is also a love of the POST STRUCTURALIST!

Goa and DARK PSY happened to me when I needed it the most, but was least prepared and my brush with dark, psychedelic night music left me metamorphosed forever, it expanded my consciousness like nothing else had done. It spoke to my UNCONSCIOUS and as an EMPATH, PSYCHIC and INTUIT, I felt like the 3D world collapse in front of me while all that remained where the subatomic particles in flux.

Dark psychedelic trance is the heavier end of the psychedelic trance spectrum with BPMs from about 148 and up. Related styles include psycore (fast and crazy), hi-tech (bouncy and glitchy), and forest (organic and earthy). Characterised of having obscure, deep and more eschatological background that leads into profound meditation of death, night and transcendence. Often with dismal sounds and heavy basslines. ~~WIKI

Quantum Reality is a bit like dark psychedelic trance, always in a state of flux! The Buddhists had it in one go- IMPERMANENCE and nothing quite elucidates that factor like a dark night set. The minute I put on one of my favourite tracks, you will easily distinguish it from the “other subgenres because of the unique sounds it typically features.”

It uses a very distinctive resonated bass beat that pounds constantly throughout the song and overlays the bass with varying rhythms drawn from funk, techno, dance, acid house, eurodance and trance using drums and other instruments. The different leads, rhythms and beats generally change every 8 bars. ~~WIKI

8 again…how sublime! The symbol of INFINITY flipped over. Eight is also extremely important in materiel manifestation. Which is why it works so well with any form of manifestation ritual! If you love this music, then work with it. Manifest!

Layering is used to great effect in psychedelic trance, with new musical ideas being added at regular intervals, often every 4 to 8 bars. New layers will continue to be added until a climax is reached, and then the song will break down and start a new rhythmic pattern over the constant bass line. Psychedelic trance tracks tend to be 6–10 minutes long. ~~WIKI

This new ideas that are introduced in every 4 or 8 bars is what decides whether we will go on an ADRENALINE BASED trip or an OXOTOCIN BASED one! With familiar samples, you will release oxytocin which in turn will bond you with the track and the musician. Sometimes even unfamiliar tropes introduced in the sounds may illicit oxytocin response. It all depends on how the neurotransmitters are firing up. Put easily, you decide how you want to feel. Nervous and edgy? Or relaxed and in control? Of course nothing is under control, but that is again the Philosopher in me talking. Nope, control is an illusion. But everything is an illusion. This whole Universe is a SIMULATION!

You know, I have used this music to HEAL, to meditate, to make love, to manifest and to go beyond the physical, but I have to confess, it is specially potent if you know how to LUCID DREAM on certain tracks. Much more on that later. I have been keeping a LUCID DREAM JOURNAL for the last decade and will be glad to share my meditations with you. Email me if you want to keep your own and need guidance.

After realising how important this genre of music is for all sorts of OCCULT MAGICKAL ACTIVITIES, I began to really improvise and work with this form of DIGITAL INFORMATION. I always felt that it was a collaboration between the MUSICIAN, the AI and the LISTENER, we shall call her the MEDITATOR- the holy TRINITY of SELF EXPRESSION or dance! And dance being the ULTIMATE FORM OF BLISS MEDITATION. One prime element of BHAKTI YOGA! To feel the magic of HARE KRISHNA, you must surrender to the dance! Have you ever been to Mayapur? It is fantastic watching how they use dance as a form of meditation, so do we, with DIGITAL MUSIC.

Using dance as a form of meditation is nothing new. ABORIGINAL people have used dance for multiple purposes. In some societies, such as those of Western Africa, trance states are institutionalised and form a part of the religious life of the people so concerned. There, it appears that trance induced naturally or chemically with certain drugs is related to possession by spirits and deities, and thus is an instrument of ritualistic and religious importance because it provides the basis of EXPERIENCING THE SACRED and THE SUPERNATURAL!

“Dance like no one is watching…” We can express so much through dance PURGE so much, FEEL so much…like some internal micro universe bursting with infinite possibilities.

If you read the ancient text NATYASHASTRA by BHARAT MUNI you will see how he discourses on dance and its importance. This text is notable for its “aesthetic “Rasa” theory, which asserts that entertainment is a desired effect of performance arts but not the primary goal, and that the primary goal is to transport the individual in the audience into another parallel reality, full of wonder, where he experiences the essence of his own consciousness, and reflects on spiritual and moral questions.” This is what dancing to dark psy did for me, which is why I am here to tell you about it. Dark psy took me to parallel realities! Yes it did.

I realised how much my psychic field developed after my dark psy journeys. I began to see so much more with the music…of other worlds, of shadow people, of other spiritual beings. In Rishikesh while listening to a live set, I experienced the most wondrous psychic visions, unparalleled to this day. My whole body was vibrating and it felt like one gigantic cosmic orgasm! The witch in me was flying on her broomstick! 😉

I have tried to share my love of this genre with many people. When I make them hear it, they clamp up. Yikes! You call that music!???! That is just plain NOISE! Do you feel that way? Well then listen up. Play the music and sit in silence. Let the DISCORDANT beats crash into the seas of our consciousness. All you do is BREATHE! JUST BREATHE! I wish I could hold you close, to bring your AURA and fuse it with mine! To merge our energies so I could share with you some of the wondrous stuff this music does to me.

Like TAROT, each TRACK or LIVE SET is like a CARD, complete with its own story, bringing to light archetypal imagery from the dawn of time! The discordant, dark night sounds can speak volumes to your UNCONSCIOUS as I discussed before and wait for it….you can actually retain that wisdom, even after the TRIP. I am not referring to a psychedelic trip, but to the TRACK itself which becomes the TRIP or the QUEST.

You know about the QUEST ARCHETYPE?

  • According to theorists, the hero’s quest occurs in cultures around the world and throughout time. It comes from the collective unconscious.
  • Each storyteller bends the mythic pattern to fit the needs of the specific culture or tale, which is why, according to Joseph Campbell, “the hero has a thousand faces.”
  • The following 12 stages of the hero’s quest archetype do not necessarily always go in the order presented; they may be re arranged.

http://www.pbs.org/mythsandheroes/myths_arch_quest.html#content

A dark psy track of Kindzadza would transport me into a SURREAL UNIVERSE where I had to work through these twelve stages to discover the meaning of my quest. This meaning became blurred each time as newer truths surfaced in my consciousness and then I reached a stage of JUST BEING with the CHAOS.

Try to interpret the TWELVE STEPS of the QUEST ARCHETYPE to the story that plays in your head with each track you listen to. Remember they will never be the exact. In fact you have to INTUIT how each ARCHETYPE applies to your scenario. If you do this, with each attempt you will be uncovering much valuable information from the deepest parts of your UNCONSCIOUS.

A CHAOS MAGICK PRACTITIONER for over a decade, dark psy spoke to me of the myriad possibilities of using it as a CHAOS MAGICK portal. I did so with tremendous success. Many New Moons have I manifested much of my heart’s desire with meditation, dark psy, orgasms and candle magick! I have kept mixing and matching the modalities, but sex(masturbation), magick and dark psy always work!

As a PSYCHIC certain tracks open up dimensional portals for me! Sometimes they are hard to traverse, as often I become too integrated to the artist’s emotions and as an EMPATH, it becomes hard. Artists using different forms of psychedelics leave their indelible marks on the tracks. You see the substance consumed, the consumer, become ONE when put in the blender of DIGITAL LANGUAGE. This is the classic Hegelian- Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis, like watching THE MAN WITH THE MOVIE CAMERA , by DZIGA VERTOV.

Man and Machine must coexist. If Elon Musk would have it, all of humanity will soon be bionic! How does that make you feel?

To create this music, the musician is aided by the AI, yes, the GHOST IN THE MACHINE! I sincerely believe that the DIGITAL LANGUAGE is not only to be credited to the humans, the computer is as much a part of it as the biological entity. Only certain Artists speak to my consciousness and spiritually energise me, for they are vibrating on the same frequency.

I am here to talk to you about dark night music as tool of great importance in not just our spiritual growth, but it can help us transcend this dense 3D fog and show us a glimpse of the 5D. It has happened to me and it can happen to you.

I have been looking for a community to speak with about my love and obsession for this genre as I have been bereft without one. There is hardly anyone I know who listens to this music and certainly no one who wants to discuss the theory and the philosophy behind it!

With the North Node in Leo, collectively we are bringing out our unique talents to show to the world. And as I speak of a smorgasbord of occult themes, I do not want to leave my SOUL MUSIC behind. I want to integrate it into my spiritual work and share my journey with you.

Do drop me a line if you think dark night music is like the very fundamental question of PHILOSOPHY….WHO AM I? If you listen closely enough, you will hear it…the PRIMORDIAL SOUND OF AUM MERGING WITH THE DIS-HARMONIC BEATS TO CREATE A PERFECT HARMONY! The perfect resonance!

I want to discuss different tracks and Artists, styles and treatments with you, just like I would discuss a French New Wave Film, Tantra or Theosophy, Tarkovsky or Munch, or a sonnet of Shakespeare. This is my quest to bring this to light.

If you like this music and like what I say, then support me. I will be going live soon on PATREON, please fund me. I plan to interact with all my PATRONS one on one(only if you take the exclusive deal) to display the various potentialities of this music in therapy, meditation, lucid dreaming and in sex magick.

Thank you! ❤

The Plan ~~ A Novel by Tinaheals

MIZPAH

The smell of death, the touch of suffering,

The hungry mouths, the tired bodies,

This is reality, wait, its buffering.

This is what it embodies.

The sleep, the dream, the dream in the dream!

 

I force my memory to return to that day, that fateful night.

I feel so divorced from reality that everything seems to be from a film, some experimental film, where the maker is purposely using disjointed close ups, to display the brokenness of the characters, to make visible the dehumanising of them.

It’s like when I look at advertisements- dismembered body parts of women are made to mimic products, a torso becomes a bottle of alcohol, and two legs become scissors. The woman is not only sexualized, objectified, but her body is not even allowed to remain whole, it is sliced up. What violence!

But here in this scene the filmmaker has perceived of slicing the characters to convey to me that they are somehow not whole, they are somehow disintegrating, they are fading away. The film I see, has a burnt out texture, the whole shot seems to be fragmented; there is an emptiness evident in the mise scene; the atoms are 9.999999999999% empty, so reality is essentially emptiness and I am more not here than here.

The camera is fluid, the shots keep going out of focus and then the subject gets refocused on. Wait, is this some film festival? Nah, it’s my life, more like a snapshot of my life.

That day!

I see her face; her mascara is running down her face, she looks like some character from a horror flick. Dressed in torn jeans and a white tee, her feet bare, her  messy make up, the alcohol on her breath and her cigarette smoke, they all surface at different times in my mind, like abstract close ups. They help me conjure up that very moment and I am there again.

A few weeks ago we had gone to the Police Station to file an FIR against this bastard. Not much was said that day or the following weeks of what had transpired because my sister was pretty much catatonic and has been since them, but this evening I get a call from her, drunk out of her head asking me to drop by. I ask Frank not to come as she might open up easier without a male presence, so hopping into a rick, I went straight to her Andheri apartment that she shared with Mel.

Anxiously I waited for her to get the door, and the sight that greeted my eyes shocked the living hell out of me.

Zeenia is wearing the same clothes in which she was raped and has painted her face very dramatically, presumably depicting the way she feels. I’m fucking scared. All these past few weeks what seemed like an eternity to me, she had suffered terribly from rape trauma syndrome and it has devastated us. We have all pretty much given up smiling or talking about anything normal, we just eat when hunger threatens to burn a hole through our stomach. Between Mel and me, we supervise her day and night, never allowing that one moment of weakness to overcome her. Slowly, slowly, she began to sleep for a few minutes, which has become a few hours. She’s stopped screaming in her sleep and the hallucinations about the rape have also lessened.

Only on days when we went to court, she’d be pretty much devastated to see the perpetrator sitting across the room, all smug and confident; lying through his teeth. Today the session at court was traumatic and this night is the reaction to that.

The night begins…

There are red Sula bottles strewn round the floor. I’m in Zeenia’s apartment at Yari Road, at least that’s where I think I am, my senses and understanding have abandoned me; we’re smoking spliffs and cigarettes like it’s going out of fashion.

The tiny apartment is smoky, it reeks of that cheap, sweet Sula smell that I detest; never been much of a drinker, in fact I do not care for alcohol at all, but today’s different.

Zeenia is drunk with a capital D and she keeps thrusting the bottle in my hand while petting Bhola, a stray puppy she rescued from the alleys of four bunglows. I keep sipping, knowing that she has something to say, but it is one of those things which can be mouthed out when one is sufficiently inebriated.

So I keep quiet, I drink on; we’re getting sloshed, Zeenia appears to be crying, hugging Bhola who stares at her surprised.

I see her face, a close up shot, her smeared mascara, and her face pale. What’s happened to you, my dearest friend, my sister? Why’re you wearing the same clothes? Why would you wear such ghoulish makeup?

Zeenia breaks down, she’s sobbing her eyes out. Bhola drags himself and sniffs her; he cannot walk as his hind is paralyzed, he carries his whole body weight on his front paws. There is a cello playing in the background, “Nothing else matters”, the celebrated Mettalica tune plays; there are no words, just the haunting tune spoken by the cello. It is spooky, it is surreal; eerily it plays on, the cello is hell bend on making me nauseous.

This nausea is different; it is filled with anxiety, with trepidation, with a doomsday feeling. Something bad is happening, no, no, it has happened and she is trying to tell me about it.

Birds fly high,

Heart as heavy as sinking iron.

The dusky twilight of today.

My haiku for the day, as I wait for her.

She is trying to work up the courage to speak about it, yes, something horrific has happened and she’s kept it bottled up for so long. Life as we knew it has ended, even Bhola can sense it.

Zeenia is on all-fours, on the floor, pulling her hair, screaming out in pain; all this while she was holding it in. I want to comfort her, but nausea is all I have. Where is Dadu? Where am I? Obviously not here, this body is here, pissed out of her mind, but where am I?

Am I in her scream? Am I in her pain? Am I even there? Do I even exist?

I just want to type away all this pain, yes, that’s what writers do, don’t they? A fucking fucked up cliché.

He raped me Nina, she’s saying. For the first time, I hear the words, the sinking feeling gets worse, as if it could get any worse. Since that day at the police station, she’d remained mute and unresponsive to everything, but today the flood gates have broken. I think I handled it better when she was silent, seeing her like this, with such a painful rawness is actually very scary.

Chills ran down my spine to actually hear these words- RAPE, RAPE, RAPE, it kept making a din in my consciousness. No, I did not hear it, but why is this word making so much noise, drowning everything else.

You read about rape in the newspapers, you watch it on tele, you see actors getting raped in films, you come across it in novels or short stories; but where do you encounter that word in the comfort of your own surroundings?

Such words do not perpetrate their violence in my mind when it comes to my sister.

As a writer you explore rape through different characters, you feel it deeply, but not like this.

Focus Nina, I hear a voice in my brain. Focus on what she is saying. “That bastard, he’s a fucking doctor, I trusted him…” All these words came to my ears disjointed, like a fragment from a whole dialogue but in the time they travelled to my ears these sound waves had lost most of their substance.

“How do people in positions of power abuse others so badly, I fucking don’t understand, especially women; these cunts create feminazis” shouts Zeenia. Her hands trembles as she tries to cut some white powder into straight lines. She snorts it through a crisp note, her eyes begin to water. She offers me the note; rolled up, ready to aid me in devouring some white powder.

No fucking way man, I did not yet care to fry my brain this instant, and of course the nausea is threatening to take charge. I have to keep it down. How did she get this stuff?

“Tell me all about it Zeenu, forget about the crap his lawyers are throwing at you, just tell me everything, from the beginning; he was about to operate on you, what happened?” I hear a small voice ask.

“Doctors are cunts; they probably rape patients on an everyday basis, who knows? Oh! And so are lawyers, fucking fuckballs…” she vacillates as if in a trance.

“But how, how,” I hear an insipid murmur. “How did it happen?”

“Fuck Nina, you’re just regurgitating the same shit over and over again, I was thinking about the story you wrote remember, about the rape…in the stables,” she reminds me.

I am quietened, I have no words. Yes I am dying to know how it happened, but I must not seem insensitive, as if at this point I can even feel anything. I think I officially know the meaning of hollow inside. I am guilty of writing that rape story in the stables, I am guilty, guilty…just hang me!

Once reminded of my creation of pain, I keep quiet; I know I have to pacify her, to give her some warmth. Why the fuck did I write that story? Oh Dadu, where are you now?

My mind is such a mess that right now even if Dadu appeared and spoke to me I could only materialize a vacuous stare.

Pull yourself together, that voice inside my head would just not shut up.

The scene playing in my mind, this movie I’m watching is boody nerve wracking. I want to shake this character Nina, the idiotic poet, phoo. What on Earth is her problem? Why can’t the bitch just hug her sister?

It’s as if the character in the film heard my cue. I see this Nina person slowly go up to her sister. She hugs her, it’s not a hug; it’s more of surrender. Zeenia had not expected this move, her rigid body turns limp, she surrenders to the power of human touch. The two sisters sob in each other’s arms, it’s perfect. The observer and the observed became one, for a second, I became Nina.

Nina, the writer; no big deal in a country where Chetan Bhagat is a best seller, it’s absolutely mundane now, being a writer that is. It’s officially the death of the intellectual. Besides what does this girl really write? Most would label her work as b.s, too grim, too existential (as if that’s a profanity), basically useless! Entertainment kahan gaya paaji? Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Yes I am a morose writer, a fucking retard, oh, and depressed retard!

Scream of infinite solitude,

Enmeshed in traffic of the soul,

A faint smile.

This kind of shit is running through my head, fuckity fuck!

The night drags on. It’s funny how when I have a pleasurable time, it’s gone before I can even quantify all the sensations I had felt; but when things go downhill, it’s like karma coming full-force to bite me in the ass.

Finally, we both stop sobbing!

Her voice is small, it’s in fact tiny!

I can barely hear it, although we’re so close.

“You know how fucked up this shit is, I went to consult him for that boob job, my producer finally gave me the cash…so I found him online and went ahead, those D cups were all I had in my head, I’m so fucked up, don’t shshhh me, I’m a dumb bitch. You told me not to go for it, but what was I to do. I needed bigger tits, for that fucking part. Fuck, shit’s really hit the roof. I’m fucked, fucked…” She says.

I have no response, my eyes are closed. I am not watching her face, just imagining her reactions.

I could see every single micro expression, every single movement of her jaws, of her eyes, how the lines creased in her face, I saw all the details without actually looking.

I taste Zeenia’s tears in my mouth or were they my own? I have no answers, I have just feelings. The nausea, the confusion is overwhelming and the emotions are transmigrating as words in my mind palace. I wish to document the pain of the dark night, there was an abundant amount of it and my psyche could not hold all.

I wait with bated breath for her to continue and it looks like Bhola did the same.

Her voice has a far off quality to it, like it echoes from some distant world. I listen as she continues.

“Don’t they have the bloody Hippocratic oath, practise medicine honestly, screw practising medicine, isn’t it absolutely unethical on so many grounds to sodomize your patient,” as she says this I realize she has stopped sobbing, so have I.

My eyes are still closed, I’m watching this scene as the abstract, fragmented film, all those extreme close ups to help the exposition along.

She moves away slowly, I just wait. Our embrace is broken, now we sit facing each other. I open my eyes, I see her eyes.

The pain in them is excruciating, it rips my heart apart. Looking into her eyes I know that no matter how hard I try I will never be able to pen down that emotion, that look will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Zeenia’s my baby sister, I came to the world five seconds earlier, so I’m the older sister; in any case I’ve acted like she was my choto bon.

Shey amar choto bon, boro adorer choto bon…yes, I would piss her off to no end when this song came out of my lips. Damn you Nina, cut out the didi complex, what’s with Bongs and didigiri?

And kobigiri? Kobi kobi bhab, chonder obhak. True that. What’s with all the poetry in my heart, it’d be better off being more prosaic, that’s what the world needs.

Anyway, I protected her, I supported her, I guided her; overall I performed all functions of an older sister as well as that of my mother. Dadu was always there, he was our guardian angel.

Sanity is returning slowly to me, I guess it’s the warmth from my sister’s hug. I’m inclined to ramble on, “Your tits are fine, and why did you even need to go to that asshole? I told you not to, you don’t need silicon in your tits to become an actor. You’re not a bimbo, you’re way better than that.”

Zeenu starts shrieking, “I know what you’re thinking, tell me, tell me. You think it’s my fault right?? You’re probably thinking of some fucking haiku right?”

“Nah re baba, how can it be your fault and no I’m not thinking of a fucking haiku?? Nah re shona, it is my fault. I should have insisted and when you didn’t listen I should have done something severe.”

“What severe? Tied me up?” Her voice takes on a lighter note.

“Probably, fuck knows.” A hint of a smile in my voice.

“I have made Dadu proud, gone and got myself raped.” She laughs cynically. Bhola gets excited to hear her laugh and barks loudly wagging his tail, she grabs him roughly and begins kissing him. What violent love!

“Dadu would have never judged you know that, although your desire for the film led to all this…” I murmur.

A slap is what I deserve; blurting this out was definitely not the right move.

“Desire is the root of all suffering he would say,” she smiles.

I think this night will never end and I don’t know when we passed out on the floor listening to Bob Marley- No woman no cry.

The mind is a funny mechanism, it does not remember everything, yet everything is tucked away neatly in some kind of mind palace. We remember things selectively, otherwise we’d go stark raving mad!

The scene begins to fade away, like a slow fade out. And I remember typing lines on to my laptop…

The smell of death, the touch of suffering,

The hungry mouths, the tired bodies,

This is reality, wait, its buffering.

This is what it embodies.

The sleep, the dream, the dream in the dream!

The lines disappear…

Another more menacing scene replaces this one. It has an ominous overture; the sound of water fills my ears.

You know the sound of water running in a shower.

Zeenia is inside and she is scrubbing herself furiously. We’ve lost the court case, after months of painful hours spent in court, the verdict is out. Dr. V is officially not guilty. It’s somehow proven that my sister’s the slut, apparently they had consensual sex. So the case is blown to dust, like a lamp extinguished with a puff.

That night will be embedded in my psyche forever. We’ve returned home after another god-awful day at court, and today was the last day. We have lost in the Mumbai high court. We may decide to challenge the verdict in Supreme Court, but that’s something we’ve got to decide together. For tonight, it is just silence I seek.

Melissa is Zeenia’s partner, they seem to be in love. I quite like her, the girl seems to have her head on her shoulders.

We were talking softly about nothing exceptional, in fact I did not even want to talk, but had to, Mel needed to talk and I was there.

So we spoke, sipping coffee and taking turns to pet Bhola.

I had insisted that Zeenia leave her bathroom door open, she had one too many episodes recently. The breakdown of her psyche bit by bit was becoming more evident and today in court I saw the look in her eyes- the look of defeat. It broke my heart.

I heard the water run in the shower and the words to her favourite song floated out. We kept on talking, the water kept running, the beats marched on. It was as if time was set in a loop. I registered nothing from the conversation with Melissa, I’m sure she didn’t either; we were both trying to keep from breaking down.

Then she politely asked us to leave her alone and went for a bath which seemed like ages. We also wrapped up and I went to see her to kiss her goodnight. Yes she was in bed, smelling wonderful, hugging Bhola. Kissing her I left, Mel went into the shower, finished up and crawled into bed.

That night I saw baba and ma in a dream, it was prophetic. I ran after being woken up by my dream and the thoughts that followed. I went into her room.

 

The air had turned chilly, if that was even possible in a city like Bombay; and I miss you like the deserts miss the rain, said the song.

We ran. I saw this happening in slow motion. My life in film- we ran to the bed, and what I had expected greeted my eyes.

She lay on the bed, all snugly hugging her Bhola who was not making any noise.

Mel shrieked Frank ran in; I don’t know what happened after that. Some sort of primeval hardwiring in my brain took care of things.

Zeenia’s mouth was wiped dry, she had to be changed into jeans and a sweatshirt; after cleaning her up, her clothes sat snugly on her body as we put her down in the couch.

I remember seeing her face, all the troubles had vanished, and she seemed to be in deep sleep. I remember Dadu singing “Amaro shone chandero kona, bhubone tulona nai re…”

He sang this song sometimes; it was apparently our mother’s favourite, her mother would sing it to her when she was a child.

Where is she? I barely remember her now, but she’s there somewhere in my psyche; sometimes I hear her sing, her smell, her touch, for a micro second I remember.

Today she had come to see me, in my dream. She had told me something which made absolutely sense- you are her, she is you…

The reality was beginning to fragment again, my head was spinning and I could hardly focus as parts of my dream danced around my mind.

I imagined her last moments; she kept her pills hidden somewhere, maybe in the cistern. I see her take out a fistful, while her tears and water all get mixed up, you’d know she’s crying if only you watched the agony on her face.

She stuffs the pills in her mouth, chokes on them but swallows them down. Reflex action, she feels like throwing up. But she clutches her mouth, forcing them down.

I cut back in my mind to another scene, we’re sitting in the bathroom floor, she’s fallen flat on her face, she’s hurt, purple blue bruises adorn her face.

“Please Zeenu, stop taking this shit. Are you trying to leave me alone, do you want to kill yourself?” I tell her.

Suddenly a smile breaks free from all this torment; she whispers softly, her voice like silk.

“Nina to be something I am not is also a form of suicide, listen I want to hand in my resignation from this fucked up life, before I get fired.”

I hear her laugh softly as if this idea had amused her.

“Quite the philosopher, to be or not to be,” I say.

“Has always been the question,” she says definitively.

“Don’t do anything stupid ok, remember what Dadu would say, all this shit is unreal.” She sensed the urgency; the request in my voice touched her somewhere I know.

She looked at me long and hard, “I’m the fucking poster girl for stupid at this moment,” She thinks, probably about Dadu as her face softens. “I doubt Dadu would quite put it like that, but I get the gist.”

We sit in silence on the cold, wet tiles, we embraced our tears instead of suppressing them and calm washed over us.

“Some fucked up illusion this is…why can’t something good happen to me for a change? She blurts out; I feel her heartache. “At least your Muffin has nine lives right, can’t he give me a couple?”

I smile. Do cats have nine lives?

Mel is touching my hands, she is trying to bring me back to the present moment. I cut back to the scene in front- my sister’s body is stone cold, she finally did the “stupid” thing.

Was it so stupid after all? My grandmother also handed her resignation and so had her father; after all we share the same mitochondrial DNA.

Somehow this incident had made Zeenia hate herself, it made her hopeless; I did not understand what could make her as full of despair as to end her life, not just hers, but end our lives.

After Dadu’s passing, she is, I mean was all I had. I’m still not used to referring to her in the past.

I can still feel her vibrations; our feelings exist as vibration along the nervous system and we feel what another feels. I feel my sister.

I hear the sound of an approaching ambulance; she will be taken away soon. Bhola is whining, his tail stiff and he just keeps licking Zeenu’s hands.

Mel was ready when they walked in, thankfully she sorted everything out. She tugged at my hands and nodded, signalling it was time to move.

I got up zombified, it was time.

The journey to the hospital is hazy, a blur in my mind.

I remember her body being carried in a stretcher, with tubes all over her nostrils and face.

What the hell were they doing to her?

It looked to me like some scene from a D-grade horror; hospitals sicken me to the core. It’s a bloody phobia-

Nosocomephobia!

I had this phobia all along which is why I had googled it; it was at least a comfort to know I am not alone.

They say that the fear essentially arises from the fact that one has no control over their lives once admitted.

A control freak, I’m not! It didn’t take me long to realize that nothing is under control and in fact nothing can ever be.

All I can recollect is sitting on a steel bench in the corridor; it’s flooded with lights, the walls are white, and everything smells disgusting! The Doctors in their garbs, mouths covered, the nurses in their uniforms, hair tied severely in a bun, they all looked scary and ugly; all the action was happening in slow motion and it looked like they were experimenting on humans. Maybe they’re aliens, who even knows?

Something about the smell in a hospital, a mix of Dettol, bleach, blood, sweat, puke and faeces; you can also smell the fear, the anxiety, the devastation disease and bodily suffering brings.

And then it just goes blank- fade to black.

Nothing else exists- not matter which is just a form of energy in a matrix of probability.

I see Dadu, his big, white beard swaying in the dark; a fire seems to burn in front of him, I can hear the wood crackle, I can see the fire dance in his eyes. He begins to look like someone not quite like Dadu, but he is him.

Dadu’s face began to morph into the face of Sanyal Mahasaya, his gurudeva. I knew that face only too well; it had been a part of my life as seeing it as the first thing in the morning cemented that face forever in my brain.

Sanyal Mahasaya looked wrathful, fearsome and terrifying. His voice was booing in my head, “Actions or karma can cause bondage, it can also liberate, in the one BEING, the ONE ALL, everything is connected to every other thing. Good and evil are subjective…the Universe is both positive and negative, like the atoms bouncing in your body…it is the whole series of contrasted qualities- NOTHING IS PURE GOOD OR PURE EVIL.”

I saw her face again; the song is playing louder now that the monologue is over, like the sound designer turned it up a notch!

“Now you’ve disappeared somewhere,

Like outer space,

You’ve found some better place

And I miss you…

Like the deserts miss the rain

Could you be dead…

By now the words had begun to scream at me- could you be dead??

It hit me hard- she is dead!!!

I will never hold her again, I will never laugh with her again, never share my life with her again; the same way I can never see Ma or baba or dadu.

It’s over, finito, kaput!!!

I see her again, frothing from the mouth, her body all twisted and blue from the poison, I feel the nausea swimming in my head.

I think about the observer’s paradox, this concept that the observer decides what to observe. What if I am observing all the wrong things??? There are infinite probabilities, so why is this option playing itself out??

Am I in some bizarre twisted way responsible for this? Can I take the blame for this?

I am ready to do pretty much anything at this point to suppress this immense pain; absolutely anything! Muffin where are you?

I’ve got to write, the words are coming, but not as fast as I’d like them to.

I shout, I see it, I hear it,

The pain, the atrocity, it exists….

In me…

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